


A Star to Steer Her By

by CrafterOfWords



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fitzcro, Fitzier, Fluff and Smut, Grumpy Francis, Hotel Sex, Love for the Sea, M/M, New Year's Eve, Poetry, Sea Fever, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22063873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrafterOfWords/pseuds/CrafterOfWords
Summary: It's New Year's Eve and Francis is dreading the annual company party, to which he's promised his friend Sophia he will accompany her. Feeling grumpy and sorry for himself, Francis is surprised to find himself falling into bed with his work rival, and loving every moment of it.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	A Star to Steer Her By

Francis Crozier straightened his bow tie by his reflection in the hotel mirror and frowned. He did not wish to be at this confounded party, and would have been far more content to have stayed at home with a bottle of whiskey,  watching the ball drop over New York City on his television set. But, Sophia, who had always been a good friend to him, had begged him to attend with her, since she'd had her eye on one particular young men ever since he'd been hired on at the office. Though she hadn't plucked up the nerve to ask him to be her date, she had hopes of snagging a kiss with him at midnight. She didn't want to be seen attending the party alone, so Francis had acquiesced at last. He was well aware that Sophia was a beautiful young woman. There had been a time when he had himself, felt interest in her, but those days were long behind them. Still, he reasoned that she would have no trouble gaining the boy's attention, and then Francis could slip out without being noticed... 

"Sophia, it's 8:00. Hasn't the party started by now?" he called.

"Yes, but we can't arrive on time. That's hardly fashionable, Francis," she called to him from the bathroom. She was fully dressed, and fully presentable, but Francis refused to get any closer to the bathroom door, for fear of being asphyxiated by the clouds of perfume, hairspray, and God knew what else that were emanating from within.

"I'll never understand this business of being fashionably late," he muttered, flopping down on the bed. He'd reserved a room at the hotel, knowing that he would (if all went well) be very very drunk by the end of the night. Another year gone, working a job that gave him no pleasure, for a man who was condescending at the best of times and often downright obnoxious. He could, of course, say none of this to Sophia, since he also happened to be her uncle.

FINALLY, she emerged from the bathroom in her tasteful gown, her hair swept back in cascading curls and a simple string of pearls draped around her neck. He gave her a smile, but inside he wondered how many more years he would have to endure alone. 

The grand ballroom positively glittered beneath crystal chandeliers. Somewhere above, there must have been a disco balls rotating, as splashes of light and color played a game of slow motion chase along the walls.

The company had pulled out all the stops this year. A deejay was stationed in the far corner and, though not many people were dancing yet, there was a large parqueted hardwood dance floor next to it.

"Oh, Francis, it looks beautiful," Sophia said, giving his arm a squeeze. He forced a smile and nodded, as he scanned the room for the promised open bar. He might be here, but he'd be damned if he was going to do this without a steady drip of alcohol in his blood.

"I'll go get us drinks," he said, having spotted the bartender. "Gin and tonic for you?"

"Yes, please."

"Good. Well, why don't you  go case the room or whatever it is that you do. See if you can find that blue-eyed boy you've been talking about nonstop for the past two weeks."

She gave him a good-natured slap to the arm, but laughed. "Don't be long, Francis," she said. 

Francis downed one shot of whiskey straight before ordering an Irish car bomb and the G and T for Sophia. He turned, with drinks in hand, and scanned the room for his date, but she must have been on to something with this ridiculous notion of fashionable lateness, because the room seemed to have filled in the short time he'd been at the bar. Clusters of people talking and laughing littered the floor, all of them looking about a hundred times happier than he felt. With a resigned sigh, he headed into the crowd.

"Oh, excuse me!"

The deep baritone voice boomed behind Francis as he collided with someone - not hard enough to spill his drinks, but just hard enough to annoy him.

"No harm done," he said, checking to make sure he hadn't gotten beer on his jacket. He'd need to return the tux in the morning, and fancy an extra dry cleaning bill.

Turning to see who had run into him, Francis felt his stomach clench. Of all the people to run into (literally, in this case) it would have to be James Fitzjames, the only man in danger of being more self-absorbed and obnoxious than their boss. Fitting, since James was quite obviously the "teacher's pet" of the office.

"Good to see you out and about, Francis," he was saying now, though Francis wasn't sure he meant it. He felt sure that more was coming.

"You don't normally come to these things, do you? I've never seen you at one, anyway. I always thought you turned into a pumpkin at dusk or something like that."

And there it was. Francis was in no mood to be mocked to his face, especially by this prancing peacock of a man.

"My date is expecting me," he grumbled, elbowing past him. 

Francis was so busy being annoyed by the presence of James Fitzjames that he almost walked right past Sophia. She reached out and lightly touched his arm, giving him a warm smile. Sure enough, she had found her man and was already hanging on his arm, her cheeks pleasantly flushed and her lips set in a permanent smile.

"Francis, you know Hank LeVesconte, don't you?" she said.

"Yes, of course. I'm glad you could attend," Francis said to him as he handed Sophia the glass.

"It's quite the benjo!" Hank said.

Francis cringed internally, wondering whether that word had been uttered by anyone in about a hundred years. But, if he understood the popular slang correctly, this man was definitely what the kids would call "extra." Well, Sophia ought to like that.

"Yes..." Francis said, unsure how else to respond. He cast a desperate glance at Sophia, silently imploring her to release him to go back to the room and drink in peace. She didn't seem to take the hint, instead turning back to Hank and sipping her drink suggestively while gazing up at him from beneath her blonde lashes. Francis downed the last of his drink and held up the empty glass. 

"I think I'll go for a refill. What about you, Sophia?" he asked, though he could see perfectly well that she wouldn't be finished with her drink for probably a half hour.

"Thank-you, Francis, but I'm fine," she said, then mouthed a silent "Thank-you," to him as he walked back to the bar with his empty glass.

Francis perched on a bar stool and ordered another drink, wishing to be anywhere but here. He slipped his phone from his pocket and began scrolling through his facebook feed. Post after post, image after image, seemingly everyone in his life was celebrating the New Year with a lover, spouse, partner, or group of close friends. He locked the phone with a sigh and put it back in his pocket.

"And then, after I'd stepped between the lady and her would-be attacker, she whipped out a can of mace and sprayed me in the face! I couldn't believe it! Talk about ungrateful!"

Francis groaned into his glass. He just wanted to have a drink and feel sorry for himself in peace, but he had inadvertently positioned himself right beside James and a gaggle of sycophantic interns. James Fitzjames was in all his glory, loudly regaling the group of college students with tales of his many heroic deeds, and Francis wanted to vomit.

It wasn't bad enough that Francis had to look at the man every day, with that... hair and those damned lines on his face that seemed to defy all natural explanation. Were they laugh lines? Wrinkles? Some sort of rogue dimples? Francis didn't know, but they taunted him daily. Of course, every woman in the office had eyes for him. He was young and attractive, the image of self assurance, and the boss's clear favorite, most likely in line for a promotion in the near future. He was basically perfect in every way and Francis detested him for it.

"So there I was, with tears streaming from my eyes, temporarily blinded and doubled over in pain, and the lady says, "Oh, I'm sorry! It looked like you were about to punch my boyfriend in the face!"

James threw up his hands in mock exasperation and was met with laughter from everyone listening.

Francis had, of course, heard the story many times before. He could recite it in his sleep. He gulped down his second Irish Car Bomb and slammed the mug down on the bar, smacking his lips as he turned to the group and said, "Why don't you tell them about the time you got caught groping the secretary in the ladies' room, James?"

James turned to stare at him, his expression more like shock than anger. Possibly even... hurt? He blinked and licked his lips and said, "I wasn't  _ groping/ _ her, Francis." All the bluster had gone from his voice, and the interns all turned to each other murmuring awkwardly. "And it wasn't in the ladies' room," he added, looking down at his hands.

Francis had expected to feel satisfied with a job well done, showing James up in front of his apostles, but he didn't. Instead of making him feel better, the jab had only made him feel worse. The weight of those big brown eyes on him felt like a lead blanket on his shoulders.

"I'm... sorry, James," he mumbled quietly. "I meant no offense. Excuse me." And with that, he got up and crossed the room in search of Sophia. He needed to get out of there. Now. Before he made an even bigger fool of himself. 

Francis was far from being plastered, but he couldn't stand to linger at the bar a moment longer. With the clarity that comes from having a mild buzz, he wondered why in the world he'd thought it would be a good idea to come to this party with a date he knew he wouldn't be leaving with that night, let alone  _ sleeping  _ with. For all he knew, she'd already left the party with her new boyfriend. If he couldn't find her soon, he would simply return to the room and send her a text message to let her know where he'd gone. He doubted very much that it would matter to her what he did.

Finally, he spotted her on the dance floor with Hank. They were slow dancing, not a breath of air between their bodies. Just looking at them moving together so intimately made him go half-hard. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, and her head leaned on his shoulder, her arms slung loosely around his neck. Hank's hands rested at her lower back, but he was sure that they had - and would again - roam farther. It wasn't fair. Suddenly, the room was stifling, and all he wanted was a breath of fresh air.

The patio courtyard was open, surrounded by a marble railing strung with white Christmas lights and greenery, and he stepped out into the cool night, gulping the crisp, clean air like a fish out of water.

The hotel was situated right on the bay, the tranquil water bobbing just yards from where he now stood, leaning forward on the railing. The lights from the hotel shimmered on the rippling water's surface like diamonds and he breathed in the smell of the salty air.

Throughout his life, Francis' first love had been the ocean. He loved everything about it - the cry of the gulls, the foam of the waves, the skittering sand crabs, and the myriad stars one could only see in the perfect darkness of the open water at midnight. What would he give to be out on the water right now, instead of stuck here at this horrible party? 

Francis had tried to convey this deep and abiding love of the water to many people over the course of his life, hoping to find another who shared his love. They all had nodded and made the appropriate noises, but Francis had never yet glimpsed a kindred spark in the eye of another. Oh, he knew there must be others out there who felt inextricably bound to the sea. He simply hadn't met them yet. It called to him, even now, whispering to him in the crashing waves and the laughing gulls, the ringing of the bell buoys and the drone of the foghorn. 

Francis sighed deeply, allowing his ever-present melancholy to flow over him. It felt familiar, like a threadbare quilt after years of use. Rubbing his temples with thumb and forefinger, he pinched his eyes closed and began reciting his favorite poem - one he had memorized as a young child.

"I must go down to the seas again,

to the lonely sea and the sky..."

Francis hadn't heard anyone approach, so he jumped when the sound of another voice - deeper and richer than his own, joined in with,

"And all I ask is a tall ship,

and a star to steer her by..." 

With a gasp, he spun to see who had followed him onto the patio, and could hardly believe it when his gaze fell on James Fitzjames standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the bright lights behind him in the ballroom. Framed by the open doors, he was tall and lean, elegant in his well tailored tuxedo, his dark hair framing his angular face. For some reason unknown to him, Francis felt lightheaded.

"I'm sorry, Francis...I didn't mean to startle you," he said, stepping out of the light to stand beside him, leaning on the railing and looking out over the water. His elbow was resting only inches away from Francis'. 

"To be perfectly honest, I was getting tired of entertaining all those children."

Francis frowned in confusion. This did not sound like the man he had spent his days detesting - the man who adored being the center of attention at all times. Here and now, he looked... sad. 

Sad and beautiful. 

Francis had the sudden urge to reach out and touch him, but he didn't move. His surprise only grew as James, still gazing out over the bay, resumed the poem.

"I must go down to the seas again,

for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call

that may not be denied;"

He paused, turning his face to Francis and smiling, as if inviting him to join in the verse. Francis shook his head and breathed out a chuckle, and together they quoted,

"And all I ask is a windy day

with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume,

and the sea-gulls crying."

"I never knew you liked poetry, James," Francis said. There was no sarcasm in his voice, and he suddenly felt remorseful for the tone he'd taken with James inside. The man hadn't done anything wrong - Francis had simply allowed his own bitterness to taint his view of everyone around him, and James - with his easy confidence and his criminally good looks - was an easy target.

James shrugged, giving Francis a little sheepish grin, which made Francis' heart flutter.

"I enjoy a good rhyme... from time to time," James said, his eyes crinkling as he grinned.

Francis groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Perhaps you ought to stick to the classics, James," he said, but he was still smiling. James nodded.

"Truth be told, I'm not much of an expert on poetry. You just happened to be reciting my favorite poem. That's all."

Francis swallowed. "Your favorite?"

"Yes," James said, his head doing that little jiggling half-nod that he sometimes did when he was feeling nervous. Not that he often looked nervous, but Francis had noticed it on occasion, and had always found it endearing.

"Sea Fever..." Francis said, as if checking to make sure they were, indeed, talking about the same poem.

James nodded, his gaze back out over the bay again. "I learned it long ago, and the imagery stuck with me. When you say it aloud, the rhythm is almost reminiscent of breakers on the shore, as if the poem  _ is _ the sea, calling to you."

"That's... exactly the way I've always thought of it," Francis said, utterly unable to believe that this conversation was taking place. Was it possible that he'd been wrong about James all this time? So very, horribly wrong? It certainly appeared that there was more to James than Francis had ever suspected.

"It's my favorite as well," Francis said. James seemed unsurprised by the revelation, simply nodding again, and Francis felt something in his chest tighten as he contemplated what he wanted to say. He'd always viewed James as a man set apart from himself - different, by 

design, on a completely different level. But if they could share the love of a single poem, perhaps they were more alike that he'd realized.

"My entire life," Francis said, "I've felt a pull to the sea, as if it were a part of my very being." He chuckled softly. "My mother used to say I had Selkie blood in me, God rest her soul."

He'd half expected James to laugh at this, but when he looked at the other man, he was met only with those large brown eyes, gazing intently back at him. His heart lurched. He shouldn't have looked. 

"As a young boy, I dreamed of sailing the world over, battling pirates and discovering new lands, a parrot on one shoulder and a monkey on the other." He laughed, shaking his head. "I suppose it must sound very foolish to you."

To Francis great surprise, he felt the warmth of James's hand on his arm.

"Not at all, Francis," James said earnestly. His long, slender fingers curled around Francis' wrist, lingering there, and Francis had to force himself not to look down at the hand, for fear he would pull it away. Thankfully, he made no move to do so. 

"I had the same daydreams as a child. I think every young boy does. And even if they don't, who's to say that one man's fantasy is any more or less foolish than the next?"

Francis smiled at him, grateful for the affirmation. He let his feet slide ever so slightly toward James, until their hips and elbows just touched.

"Well, then, James, what did you dream of being as a child?" he asked.

James paused for a moment, clearly having second thoughts about his previous assertion that no fantasy could be foolish.

"Go on, then, James," Francis coaxed, nudging him with his elbow.

James met his gaze and, with a self-deprecating grin said, "I dreamed of being the pirate."

Francis couldn't help but laugh - not because it was funny, but because it was the most perfect thing James Fitzjames could possibly have said. He was glad when James broke into laughter right along with him and gave his arm a squeeze.

Suddenly, everything seemed to shift. It was very clear to Francis that he'd been wrong about James, but now he was beginning to wonder whether he'd been an absolute fool. James' hand still rested on his arm, and Francis tentatively placed his other hand over top of it.

James looked down at them, then back up at Francis's face. A tiny smile - almost shy - flitted across his lips and his whole face seemed to soften as he lifted his thumb to gently stroke the skin along Francis' knuckles.

Francis felt a wave of chills flow over him, his stomach twisting and rising into his throat 

like he was on a roller coaster ride. He couldn't stop looking at those lips - he had a beauty mark just above his upper lip on one side. He'd never noticed it before, but suddenly he couldn't stop staring at it. He wanted to kiss it. The tip of James' tongue darted out and swept across his lips as parted. 

Francis cast a hurried glance over his shoulder at the party inside. He saw Sophia, still on the dance floor with Hank. Many of the guests had paired off, dancing or drinking or deep in conversation.

When he turned back to James, his face was even closer than before, making Francis catch his breath. His hand tightened over James's as he leaned in to bridge the distance, and their lips met.

The kiss was nothing like Francis might have imagined a kiss with James Fitzjames would be.  _ Had  _ he thought of it? He couldn't remember, but he must have at some point. This kiss was soft and gentle and warm and slow, and Francis felt that warmth radiating outward over his whole body. When he pulled back, James was still looking at him with large, searching eyes, almost as if he were... unsure of himself?

"I hope... I haven't misstepped," James said softly.

Francis answered by leaning in to kiss him again, this time more fervently, allowing his body to slide closer. He felt that he was floating, weightless, bobbing on the water's swells like a gull. This time when the kiss broke, they stayed close, noses bumping as they both panted softly, their breath mingling as puffs of steam in the freezing air. Francis felt that he ought to say something, but words escaped him. He looked back at the party one last time. Sophia was still dancing, completely oblivious to anything happening around her. He was sure he would not be missed. 

Turning back to James, Francis said, "I have a room upstairs..." 

Francis heard the soft intake of breath as James processed the words he'd just spoken. His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment Francis was afraid he'd gone a step too far - ridiculous of him to think that this was anything more than a casual New Year's Eve kiss. He pulled back a little, ready to turn and walk away once the rejection was formalized. 

"What about your date?" James asked. 

Francis shook his head, hope bubbling in his chest once again. "Sophia is my date in name only. She didn't want to come alone, but she's been ogling that hipster kid for weeks." he nodded toward Hand and the dance floor in illustration. "Trust me. She won't miss me."

James nodded, a smile tugging at his lips and a gleam in his eye. "Give me a few minutes. What's your room number?" he asked. 

"801," Francis said, but immediately he felt nervous. What if this was James's way of blowing him off? What if Francis went back to his room and James never arrived? He needed to pull himself together. This was fine. 

"Give me ten minutes," he said, still with that adorably boyish smile on his lips. "I'll meet you at the room." Before Francis could turn away, James swooped back in and kissed him again, quick but hard, taking his lower lip between his lips and giving it a teasing tug before he released. "I'll see you soon," he said, winked, and walked back through the ballroom.

Francis stood still, watching him go, his mind spinning. This felt like a dream, and he wasn't entirely convinced that it wouldn't prove to be a nightmare. He considered going in and speaking to Sophia directly, but she was still plastered to Hank, and he hated to interrupt their mood. Maybe he and Sophia would both get laid that night, he mused. They had discussed how they would proceed if she managed to snag her man (she would simply rent a separate room for her lover and herself) but Francis had never even considered the possibility that  _ he  _ would be the one bringing someone back.

Before he could forget, Francis pulled out his phone and tapped out a text message to Sophia:

"I'm at the room. I'M NOT ALONE. Please do not disturb."

Then another message: "Hope you have fun. Looks like you may be getting a room of your own anyway. Happy New Year, Soph."

Locking the screen, he slid the phone back into his pocket and strode quickly off the patio, straight through the crowd of chattering people, back into the hotel proper to the elevator. 

Back in his room, Francis dashed about, straightening. He hadn't left anything out of place himself, but Sophia's toiletries were sprawled over the vanity like she'd been living there for a month, and various articles of clothing were draped over the desk chair, hurled from the bathroom as she'd dressed. He looped one arm around her many bottles and tubes and swept them into the plastic laundry bag along with the discarded garments, then stuffed it all into a dresser drawer. 

Francis observed himself in the mirror and shuddered. What on Earth could James want with him? After all, James was… well… James! He could have anyone in the office, Francis had no doubt. He wondered just when James had first taken notice of him in a manner other than that of professional rival or annoying grumpy coworker. The idea that James could have been interested in Francis for any length of time made him feel inexplicably  _ more  _ nervous, rather than less. It had never even crossed his mind to try and put his best face on in front of the man. 

Francis began to pace, wondering briefly whether he should get undressed, but quickly decided that the unveiling was half the fun, if not more, though he couldn't imagine someone like James finding his body all that impressive. 

He didn't have much time to fret over this, however, as a gentle knock at the door snapped him out of her revery. 

_ He's here _ ! Francis thought in a panic. He hurried to the door, but then paused, not wanting to appear like he'd just hurried to the door.  _ God, I'm a mess… Calm down!  _ He peered through the peephole just to be sure that it was James outside. Sure enough, there he stood, fidgeting and glancing somewhat nervously back and forth, his head disproportionately large through the fish eye lens. Francis drew in a deep, steadying breath and opened the door.

James looked up when the door opened, and he smiled at Francis as he walked inside. Francis couldn't help noticing how his nervous manner seemed to have evaporated the moment he knew Francis' eyes were on him, and he wondered whether the cool confidence James projected might be an act more often than not. 

"You came…" Francis said, instantly feeling silly for stating the obvious. 

"Of course I came," James replied. "Did you actually think I might not?"

"No, it's not that… Or… well, I'm glad that you did, but… I'm just a bit surprised is all. Surprised that you wouldn't have a better option for New Year's Eve than a dried up old thing like me."

James stared at him in bewilderment. "Surely you don't mean that, Francis," he said. 

Francis was beginning to regret his decision to start talking at all. Perhaps he ought to have tugged James into the room by his lapels and begun undressing him at once. "Well, I don't mean to say that I'm… undesirable…" Francis said, although...wasn't that exactly what he'd been inferring? "It's just that someone like you… Well, you could certainly have your pick of anyone at the office, or just about anywhere, I would think. I never thought you would look my way."

James shook his head with an expression that Francis couldn't quite read. He took a step closer, and Francis felt his pulse quicken with each inch. "You honestly don't know how sexy you are, do you?" James said. His dark eyes seemed to burn with hunger as he stepped directly in front of Francis and reached out to fiddle with his bow tie. "I have admired you for a very long time. You are strong and stable and calm in the midst of crisis - the very image of quiet, solid masculinity." He tugged the bow tie loose and slipped it free from Francis' neck, then unbuttoned his collar. 

"And you have no idea how handsome you are, which only makes you that much more appealing." James pulled open another two buttons before slipping his hand beneath the fabric, splaying his fingers over Francis' chest. Francis was sure that James would be able to feel his heart thundering right through his ribcage, and the sensation of his fingers against Francis' bare skin made him shiver. He wanted to kiss him again - wanted to peel back every layer of clothing and taste every inch of his skin. 

"I never knew you were paying attention," Francis said, his voice quavering slightly.

"I think you'll find that I am far better at the skill of observation than you've given me credit for," James said with a soft chuckle. "And I've been wanting to observe you more closely for a very… long… time…" With each word, he paused just long enough to pluck another button of Francis' shirt free, until it hung open. 

Francis had to concentrate to keep from falling over. Each new revelation left him feeling more and more lightheaded. 

Yes. Definitely a dream. It was the only explanation.

Definitely a  _ good _ dream. 

Tentatively, he reached out and pulled James' tie free, then unbuttoned his shirt as James had done for him. When the shirt was opened and Francis slid his palm over James' exposed chest, James let his eyes fall closed and his lips part in a sigh. It was the most beautiful - most erotic thing Francis could remember seeing in a very long time, and it sent a jolt of arousal straight to his core. He slid his hand up to cradle James' cheek, running the pad of his thumb along the line that framed his face. James loosely gripped Francis' wrist, leaning his cheek into the open palm, nuzzling there. Francis leaned in and kissed him then, softly at first, their lips brushing over one another lightly. He could feel the heat of James' breath on his face, and his heart raced. He sucked lightly at James' upper lip, his tongue darting out to lick the mole he'd noticed downstairs, and James moaned softly into his mouth.

In the privacy of the hotel room, whatever inhibitions had been binding them on the terrace were gone. The kiss deepened quickly and James slipped an arm around Francis, his hand resting at the small of his back, tugging him close. Francis' hands were at James' face, then in his hair - running over his shoulders - then finally slipping beneath the fabric of his shirt and sliding it, along with the tuxedo jacket, off of him. James immediately followed suit, giving Francis' tux a shove, his elegant hands running up and down Francis' back once his shirt and jacket had been removed. His long fingers dipped just barely beneath the waistband of Francis' pants before ascending once more, tracing the ridges of his spine. 

Francis felt goosebumps rising all over his body, and he desperately wanted to feel James' hands on his skin, everywhere at once. His fingers clumsily fiddled with the clasp of James' cummerbund, finally loosening it and flinging it aside, and was vaguely aware of James doing the same for him. 

With each article of clothing removed, the anticipation grew stronger. They toed off their shoes and kicked them aside without ever breaking their kiss, their hands now moving to unbutton each other's dress pants as they stumbled - Francis moving backward - toward the king sized bed. At the last moment, Francis half tripped over his pants, which had bunched around his ankles, and he fell backward onto the bed, pulling James down on top of him. 

They laughed for a moment, but then their lips were pressed together again, and James was sliding his hand down Francis' side, tugging off his boxer shorts, then at his knee and gliding slowly up his thigh. When Francis felt James' fingertips flutter over his heated arousal, he groaned. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so hard - so needy - and felt so wanted, in return. His hands went to James' waist, dipping below his waistband to palm his ass, relishing the feeling of his smooth skin and the muscles tensing beneath his touch.

"James…" He let his fingers curl into the meat of James' backside and pull him to himself. He was gratified to feel the evidence of James' desire, rigid beneath the thin fabric of his boxers, and he tipped his hips upward, grinding against him slowly, his knees bending so that his legs surrounded James on both sides. James whined softly at the friction, his eyes pinched closed in pleasure as he reached down and shoved his own boxers down and kicked them off. 

Francis couldn't help but feel self-conscious under James' gaze, those dark eyes seeming to devour him whole as they roamed over his bare body, lingering at his groin long enough for him to wet his lips. Francis gazed up at him in awe. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he thought he would be in this position, staring up at James Fitzjames, of all people, naked and rock solid with desire. He looked like something out of Greek mythology - more demigod than man, with his smooth skin and well sculpted muscles. 

It suddenly occurred to Francis that he hadn't brought any condoms with him to the hotel, since he'd fully expected to be alone and bored out of his mind that night. But before he could even open his mouth to say so, James had pulled a foil packet from somewhere and was rolling the silicone sleeve down his impressive erection. 

"I see you came prepared…" Francis said with a soft chuckle. 

James gave him a grin and said, "That's why I needed some time. I had to run out to my car and get these." He tossed a second condom, along with a small bottle of lube onto the bed beside Francis. Francis wondered how often James found himself in situations like this, that he would travel with these items in his car, but decided to save that question for another time. He grabbed the foil packet and quickly sheathed his own erection before looking up at James again. 

James was gazing down at him with such greedy hunger that he wondered whether he was actually looking at someone else. He licked his lips and gestured for Francis to pull himself fully onto the bed. Then he was climbing over Francis again, nudging his legs apart to situate himself between Francis' knees. He leaned down, pressing their bodies together, and dragged his front teeth along Francis' throat. He licked a wide stripe back up to just below his ear and kissed along his jawline, back to his lips. 

Francis was beside himself with longing, his engorged prick throbbing needfully. He didn't know for certain whether James would prefer to top or bottom, but judging by the position he'd taken, he had a good guess. As if in direct answer to this thought, James reached down between them and, with fingers slick with lube, began massaging Francis' perineum. Francis arched his back and groaned, his head shoved back in the pillow as he felt those tantalizing fingers circle his opening, closer and closer to the center and finally slipping one inside. 

"Fuck…" he gasped, his eyes opening to find James observing him with a lust hot enough to scald his soul. It suddenly occurred to Francis that he ought to be touching James as well, so he reached out and pulled him into another searing kiss, his own hands running down his back, grabbing his backside, his thumbs trailing over his hip bones, teasing the sides of his groin. He let one hand move forward to gently cradle James' sac, rolling it softly in his palm and eliciting a whimper of pleasure that made his blood boil with lust. 

James pressed a second finger inside and curled both slightly to hit his prostate, and Francis felt a jolt of pure electricity shoot through his body. He cried out, fingers digging into James' hip. 

"James…" he panted, "if you carry on like that, you're going to have me spilling all over the bed before you ever have a chance to be inside me." 

James grinned, clearly pleased with himself, though he, too, was breathless and flushed. Francis wrapped his fingers around James' cock and began to stroke it, reveling in the expression on his face and the soft keening sound that fell from his lips. Francis could tell that he was close, too. 

"Inside me… Now, James!" Francis gasped, and James complied at once, pulling his fingers free and positioning himself at Francis' opening. He pushed inside and Francis sucked in a breath at the burn of stretching skin, and the delicious feeling of being filled. 

"All right, Francis?" James asked, pausing in a gesture of thoughtful self-control that Francis hadn't known he possessed.

"Yes. Yes, James, for mercy's' sake I need you to fuck me!"

James leaned down and pressed his face against the side of Francis neck, his mouth open and breath hot against Francis skin as he began to thrust. Francis' hands grasped at his backside, fingers pressing into his smooth flesh, leaving pale makes on his skin. His knees bent, gripping James between them so that his belly rubbed against Francis' arousal with each decadent roll of his hips. He felt pressure building in his core, like a spring coiled tight enough to snap at any moment, and then he was rocketing through the stratosphere, back arched off the bed, legs wrapping around James' hips, hands gripping him hard enough to bruise. 

When the orgasm had subsided, James pulled out and flopped down on the bed beside Francis, panting hard, his body flushed and glazed with sweat. His hair was mussed, falling into his face, and his lips were red and swollen from kissing. He looked exquisite. 

Francis barely had the energy to roll onto his side. He still felt as though he was drifting through the clouds, weightless are carefree and completely content. When he finally mustered the strength, he rolled onto his side to face James and they looked at each other through the haze of their afterglow, grinning giddily. Francis reached over to lightly brush the hair from James' face. 

"James…" he said, his voice soft and breathy. "That was… You are…"

At that moment, the door was flung open and Sophia fell inside. "Francis, you would not BELIEVE what just happened to me. Hank and I were out to the patio and I dropped my phone in the bay!" She said all this without looking into the room, and he realized she had already ducked into the bathroom. "Hey, what have you done with all my things? Francis, are you even in there?" She stuck her head out of the bathroom and immediately her entire face turned bright red as her eyes widened. 

"Oh, God, Francis! I'm so sorry," she stammered, covering her eyes with her hands and turning around, walking straight into the full length mirror. "Dammit! Ugh. Francis. I'll just… ok. I'm going. I'm gone."

She stumbled out of the room and Francis looked at James, hoping he wouldn't be upset. Instead, he burst into raucous laughter, and Francis couldn't help but join him, burying his face in James' chest and clinging to him through it all.

"Well that's one image she won't soon forget," James said, once their hysterics had subsided. 

"Poor Sophia," Francis agreed, unable to bring himself to be upset with her. It was obvious that she'd lost the phone before reading his message, and walking in on the two of them was greater punishment than he could have given her anyway. "But don't worry, James. She'll be discreet," Francis added. 

"What?" James looked at him in surprise. "Why would I care that she'd be discreet?"

"Well, I only assumed that you wouldn't want word going around the office that you and I had…"

James shook his head. "I suppose it would be best if Mr. Franklin didn't find out, but beyond that… Francis, I may well be shouting it from the rooftops, myself!" 

Francis grabbed a pillow and swatted James with it. "You'll do no such thing!" he cautioned, though they were both laughing again now. Just knowing that James had no regrets about what they'd done put him fully at ease, and he clambered over James, straddling him and leaning down to kiss him again. 

"Do you have somewhere you need to be, James?" he asked between kisses. 

"Yes…" James said. 

Francis pulled back in alarm. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't know…"

James laughed, gripping him by the shoulders and pulling him back down. "I need to be right here, with you," he whispered.

Francis breathed a sigh of relief, dipping down to kiss him again. "Well, I'd better make sure Sophia is alright, but… I do have the room for the rest of the night…"

James grinned. "I'd be honored," he said.

At that moment, they heard a crashing sound outside, and lights flashing through the sheer curtains like stars exploding in the distance. It was midnight.

"Happy New Year, Francis," James said, lifting a hand to touch his face.

"Happy New Year to you, too, James. I have a feeling this is going to be a very good year."


End file.
